


Requiescant in Pace

by ChelleLeigh1917



Category: The White Queen (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-10
Updated: 2015-09-10
Packaged: 2018-04-20 00:36:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 812
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4766927
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChelleLeigh1917/pseuds/ChelleLeigh1917
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Anne was gone. There were times he needed to remind himself of that. Anne was gone. Those were words and thoughts, he'd never thought to have in his life. But it was the most stark truth of his life, not Tudor's coming invasion. Anne was gone, and that stark reality was what the rest of his life would be built upon.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Requiescant in Pace

Richard could still smell the funeral incense when he closed his eyes. It had been an ever-present scent in his mind, an ever-present, yet unneeded reminder that Anne was gone. 

Anne was gone. 

Anne was gone. There were times he needed to remind himself of that. Anne was gone. Those were words and thoughts, he'd never thought to have in his life. But it was the most stark truth of his life, not Tudor's coming invasion. Anne was gone, and that stark reality was what the rest of his life would be built upon. 

He'd never asked for this kind of pain. It was a pain which seemed to tear at his very soul. Anne was gone. He'd been unable to heal her. He was King of England, and he'd been unable to heal his own Queen. 

It wasn't that he'd stopped trying, that he'd stopped believing he could heal her. No, he'd only lost that faith the moment she had drawn her last breath. Until that moment, he still believed he could heal her. After all, he was God's own anointed, God's own anointed King, and he could not even heal his wife. 

What did that say about him? Was he so deep in sin that God had abandoned him? In his darker moments, Richard certainly believed that. In his darkest moments, he'd thought of ending it all. He could not do that though, even during the darkest nights of his soul, he could never have killed himself. By doing so, he would have stated he'd lost all hope. 

He still wanting to believe he'd not been abandoned by God. He still wanted to believe he was not the greatest sinner on Earth. Anne could have reassured him, told him he was not now, nor had he ever been a great sinner. Anne was gone. Their Edward was gone. 

How could the anointed, rightful King have lost both his heir and his wife in less than a year? 

It was a question he wrestled with during long, sleepless, somewhat drunken nights. He still did not have an answer. 

He'd tried so hard to heal her. After all, he was King, his touch was supposed to be healing. He'd touched Anne, he'd prayed over her. For a time, she'd even believed he could heal her. 

He doubted he would ever forget the day when she'd moved his hands away from her head. He'd stared at her, as she'd explained she'd made her peace with her illness. She knew it was mortal. She'd explained he needed to make his peace with it as well. 

To his eternal shame, they'd argued over it. He'd wasted precious time, arguing with her. It was time they should have just spent together. But he'd argued, he'd raised his voice to her, practically begging her to believe he could heal her. 

But Anne had stood her ground. She'd accepted she was not long for this world, and she'd argued she needed him to accept it too. 

He'd seemingly acquiesced. He'd let Anne think he accepted her coming mortality. But everytime she was asleep, he still placed his hands on her. 

He closed his eyes. He could hear the mass beginning. One of the numerous masses he had said for Anne's soul daily. 

But was he the one truly in need of those prayers? 

~~  
It broke her heart that he could neither see nor feel her. Anne knew Richard could not feel her presence. No matter how many times she reached to touch him, he never felt her touch, and she never felt his warmth. 

_Requiescant in pace_

That was what all the prayers wished for her, that she would rest in peace. 

Anne thought her current existence had to be Purgatory. After all, what could be more purgatorial than knowing the pain of her love, and being able to do nothing about it. 

There were times she regretted letting him see how she'd come to be at peace with her illness. Perhaps it would have been easier if she'd still allowed him to think he could heal her. 

She did not have the answers. 

More than anything she wished she could end his pain. She wished he could see her, that Richard could know she'd never left him. That she could not leave him. 

She was bound to him, just as he was bound to her. 

Even her death had not separated them. 

_Requiescant in pace_

She could only hope those prayers would be true for both of them, someday. She knew he was to leave soon for Nottingham, to await news of the Tudor pretender. 

_Requiescant in pace_

Perhaps, she would have her peace once she knew her Richard's fate. 

And perhaps, he would have his peace too. If the prayers of the dead had any affect on the living, she knew he would have his peace.

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by this post on tumblr: http://stardust-pond.tumblr.com/post/128716728857/during-the-late-medieval-period-there-were-many


End file.
